j. cole — Writing — Sun-Ui Yum

Over the last twenty days of December (and obviously 2013), I’ll be writing about my favorite twenty albums and songs of the year, one a day. Not best. Not most influential. Not most likely to land on a Complex slideshow. Just my favorite, ranked in order.

19. drake - nothing was the same

I have a theory that in a decade, we’ll point to this album as Drake’s real turning point (provided that he keeps up his pace). It’s pretty clear that this isn’t Drake’s best work – most notably, he’s dropped the melancholy atmosphere and cohesiveness that made Take Care so excellent in favor of a sharp dose of bitterness and aggression. But this is the first project from Drake that’s made me comfortable calling him a very good rapper, as opposed to a very good musician (an overwrought distinction, but still a relevant one). On Nothing was the Same, Drake is legitimately gripping when he cedes the singing interludes to his raps; they’re not just cameo appearances to bide the time between R&B joints. He carries “Tuscan Leather”’s three beats without any trouble right off the bat, and it’s only about three minutes in album time before he segues into some smooth bars over Jake One’s outro to “Furthest Thing.” Take Care was an imperfect album that bridged “good” to “great” because of Drake’s ability to evoke emotion; it was easy enough to tune out the slightly off-beat, slightly awkward rapping when he could envelope you into his life. Nothing was the Same isn’t as involved in terms of weaving you into Drake’s emotions, but it’s the first time Drake’s become convincing as an elite dual threat. Once you can hold your own against Jay-Z, you’re worth a shout as a rapper. And what this album loses in its disjointedness, it manages to gain back through its one-offs and singles - “Hold On, We’re Going Home" has a shout as one of the best major singles of the summer. And most crucially, it’s not that Drake’s lost his knack for atmosphere, "Too Much" is as slow and piano-ey and melodic and vaguely sad as anything Drake’s ever made. It’s just a matter of putting it together for a full album. I’m willing to be that that project comes sooner than later, and Nothing was the Same is the real changing point. It’s listenable and accessible in a way that none of Drake’s works have been until now, and that’s a barrier he had to cross sooner or later. Thankfully, it’s the former.

19. j. cole - "cole summer (prod. j. cole)”

Spoiler alert: Born Sinner isn’t on this top 20 list. Why? Because no matter how good that album was, ultimately it was just a slightly depressing reminder of how little of his potential J. Cole was reaching. Occasionally on the album he jumped on the type of mellow, quietly snapping beat that suits him best (“Mo Money (Interlude)”), but more often, it’s as if he’s actively trying to make music that directs the listener’s attention to his shortcomings. Sometimes it’s because Cole’s stuffing his beats to the point of overflow (“Trouble”), or because he decides he wants to be angry and forceful and menacing, which inevitably ends poorly/embarrassingly (like when he got into an argument with himself over the word “faggot” on “Villuminati”). Essentially, Cole’s developed a decidedly unsavory habit of dropping off jazzy, well-paced, let-me-tell-you-about-my-life-and-make-you-care-without-being-Diet-Drake projects and then dropping albums that show he’s learned, well, nothing. “Cole Summer" is the painful headline of this career-long story. The immediate reaction might be to call this song classic Kanye fare circa-Late Registration, but that’s doing Cole a disservice, because he’s riffing off the standard pallet of wailing vocals and crisp, jerking drums in a distinctly "Cole” manner. He’s dropping wry lines (“Throwing thousands in the strip club with Drizzy/Difference is, I’m throwing four, he throwing fifty”) that slide his state of mind over to you far more smoothly than the usual “I DO THIS FOR THE VILLE” and “ME AND MY VILLE NIGGAS ONLY” proclamations that he unapologetically scatters across his music. Born Sinner’s sixteen songs don’t get as much across as Cole pleading, “This sample was yelling ‘loop me,’ Ms. Hill, please don’t sue me.”